


It's Like a Cinderella Story or Something

by Ashley_vh



Series: Multifandom Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Cinderella AU, Downworlder Politics, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Rape/Non-con, Prince Charming Raphael, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6974575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashley_vh/pseuds/Ashley_vh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A week long political shit show is all it takes for forever bachelor and clan leader Raphael to fall for Simon, even though he's the youngest in the rival clan that Raphael escaped from years before.  Can Raphael save Simon?  Does Simon want to be saved?</p>
<p>Prompt: "Saphael Prompt!  Kinda Cinderella AU.  Simon is from another clan and he meets Raphael at one of Magnus' crazy parties.  Raphael can't stop thinking about him and starts looking for him and saves him from his abusive clan leader." -Anonymous</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Like a Cinderella Story or Something

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “Saphael Prompt! Kinda Cinderella AU. Simon is from another clan and he meets Rapphael at one of Magnus’ crazy parties. Raphael can’t stop thinking about him and starts looking for him and saves him from his abusive clan leader.” - Anonymous.

They arrive separately.  They have to, to keep the peace. 

First the Warlocks. All three of them that have any reason for going to this circus arrive in the morning to set up portals and perform whatever magic it is that keeps the small circle of houses hidden from Mundanes just like Idris.  Then, once the hard work is done, just before the afternoon, the Shadowhunters portal in to keep the various groups from massacring each other—not that the Shadowhunters would care all that much if they did end up killing each other.  Then, to keep the groups with the most animosity as separate as possible, the Werewolves arrive with the afternoon sun high in the sky.  Then, about an hour before sunset, the Seelies arrive with the usual level of pomp and circumstance that comes with royalty.  The Vampires are last. 

Raphael’s clan arrives just after sunset.  They have to wake up early to even get the time to eat before Magnus is portaling them to the grassy clearing surrounded by tall trees near Pandemonium that he knows didn’t exist yesterday.  Raphael doesn’t even have to see the large crowd of people standing around gossiping to feel the headache beginning to form.  He understands the reason for these meetings.  They’re important, and they were only once every few years, but he hates them.

Everyone brings so much shit.

There’s no reason for it.  Most of them live in the city, at most a 20 minute train ride away from where they’re meant to spend their week.  There’s not even a real reason for staying near each other for the week.  Only custom.  Raphael hates that too.  He would have preferred staying at the hotel and making the trip.

“Raphael!”  Magnus says, appearing from the crowd.  He’s dressed in a dark red suit without any color in his hair or sparkly jewels around his neck, probably to make him seem as professional as possible when the Clave is involved.  He’s smiling as he grips Raphael’s shoulders, starting to lead him towards the wide path to the houses.  “You’re late,” He says, sounding like he’s in his element.  He probably is.

He shifts the bag he brought so it isn’t banging against his legs as he walked, not needing to check behind him to know his clan is following him.  “We can only get here when our portal brings us, Magnus.”  He says, “Maybe you should stop slacking.”

Magnus gives him a half-hearted glare before smiling again.  “Come on,” he says, walking along the path with purpose now, “You’re set up over here.”  The path cuts through what seems like a small isolated forest, barely a quarter mile of thick trees that separates the portal hub from the houses. 

Even the path is swarming with small groups walking back and forth for one reason or another.  Raphael can hear a group behind them, matching their pace in silence far enough back from his clan that he doesn’t need to worry, so he doesn’t turn.  This is a relatively safe place, there’s no way anyone would risk attacking his clan while the Shadowhunters and Warlocks are there to protect them.

Magnus raises his voice so the rest of Raphael’s clan can easily hear what he says when they break through the treeline, “There’s plenty of blood and alcohol in your house.”  He turns with a flourish as he stops outside a house with a wide covered porch, just in case the Vampires need to let guests in their house when the sun’s up.  “But if you need anything more, please feel free to ask.”

A voice from behind them makes the smile all but vanish from Magnus’ face.  “What no warm welcome for me?”  Her voice practically drips with sickly sweet venom.

Raphael’s clan swarm away from Camille, giving her a wide berth and fighting the urge to inch back further behind Raphael.  This is the first time most of them have seen her since they left her.  They stop moving when they see the smirk on her face, not wanting her to think that she still affects them, but he can practically feel the anxiety radiating off them in waves. 

As Magnus steps forward, towards Camille, Raphael taps Lily to get her attention.  When she looks at him with the same neutral expression he wears, he speaks just low enough for only her to hear, “Take the clan inside.” 

She nods after Magnus starts to speak, “Welcome, Camille,” he says with carefully chosen words that almost seem genuine, pulling her attention away from her former clan walking away from her, “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

Camille smirks at them as Tessa Grey runs up beside her, bringing the rest of the clan with her.  “Ms Belcourt,” she says in that practiced civilized way she has with most people she hates, “your house is this way.” 

Camille doesn’t even acknowledge that she had spoken.  Instead, she runs her eyes over Magnus’ body with a lewd look that she doesn’t even bother to hide, giving Raphael the same treatment.  “Trust me, Magnus,” she says, all but flashing her fangs at the Warlock, “I will.” 

Then she stalks off, brushing by Raphael without looking at him again, without touching him, just close enough to send a rush of air by him.  The sharp click of her heels on the path snaps around the clearing, bringing all the attention to her as she sways her hips just like she used to.  Her tight dark dress is cut high up the thigh, showing skin that she knows makes Mundane men and women gravitate to her like moths to a ravenous flame.

She still smells like lavender and blood.

With an apologetic smile, Tessa follows her, walking between Magnus and Raphael so she could give each of their shoulders a little squeeze before she leads the rest of Camille’s clan away.

As they pass, the older Vampires glare at Raphael.  It gives him a deep sense of pleasure to know they’re still bitter about what he did.  But the older ones never forgive and forget. 

It doesn’t escape his notice that each of them carries nothing.  Camille’s favorites never carry their own things.  Like he expects, the younger Vampires he doesn’t recognize, the ones that were turned after he left the clan, rush by, looking at the ground and balancing more bags than could justifiably be theirs. 

Once the clan is out of earshot, Raphael says, “She made new Vampires.”  His voice is barely loud enough for Magnus to hear, but he says it with resolution.  He wasn’t expecting her to do anything else.  “She broke the Accords again.”

He could see Magnus nodding out of the corner of his eye as the last Vampire, most likely the youngest, judging by the way he tried to make himself small and carried the most vanished into the house.  “Who among them will come forward?”  He sounds just as resigned as Raphael is.

“None.”  He knows what makes her clan so obedient.  He can hardly blame any of them for staying in line.  It’s the choice he should have made.

They stand together in silence for a moment, just staring at the house across the clearing, before Magnus perks himself back up.  “Go inside,” he says in an overly bright tone, “After you set up your things, come to my place,” he points to the house right in the middle of the little semi-circle of houses, “The other Warlocks and I are having a drink and playing cards.”

Raphael nods and Magnus squeezes his shoulder again with a sympathetic smile.  Then he’s gone, back the way they came to help sort things out before going to his house for the night.  Downworlders and Shadowhunters are walking along the path, towards the houses, probably to sleep their travel away. 

He tightens his grip on his bag of clothing for the week and walks towards the house the rest of his clan is in, probably watching from the windows, watching to see what Camille did.

Lily’s dark orange dress catches his eye as she opens the door before he even reaches the porch.  She just stares at him as he walks in the house, silently waiting until he closed the door.  As soon as the door clicks closed, she throws her arms around his shoulders and hugs him tightly. 

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, it’s easy to forget she was there that night too—

“Are you okay, Raphael?”  She asks, pulling away and leading him towards the living room with a hand around his arm. 

He smiles as the rest of his clan stand around him.  “I’m fine.”  He says, “I’m not afraid of Camille.  There’s no reason to be afraid of her anymore.”  Lily’s grip tightens on his arm as he says, “I’ll protect this clan.”  They breathe a sigh of relief at his words.  “Now,” he says, “Go upstairs, put your things away, and relax.  Camille wouldn’t risk herself trying anything during this week.”

They obey him immediately, rushing up the stairs down the hallway and arguing over who gets what room.  Lily follows slower than the rest, turning just before the stairs, “There’s a drink for you in the kitchen.” 

She runs off in a blur before Raphael can argue it.  He hates it when his clan waits on him; it reminds him too much of Camille’s reign of terror.  But he should be used to it by now.  “Thank you, Lily,” he calls up the stairs, setting his bag on the floor to poke around the first floor of the house.

He always knew Magnus was good at decorating, and this house is no exception.  The house is simple, understated but still beautiful. All dark wood and off white walls, simple paintings hung on the walls to bring color to the rooms.  It’s calmer than the hotel in a way that soothed Raphael’s nerves.

The living room takes up most of the first floor, filled with large couches and chairs that look insanely comfortable and would have been expensive if Magnus had actually paid for any of it.

Lily had left the small glass of blood and alcohol, mixed perfectly, on the counter in the kitchen.  He picks it up to continue poking around.  Where the rest of the house is simple and understated, the kitchen is ridiculously modern.  The refrigerator, filled only with blood and liquor, is massive, all silver so it matched the pointless stove and the vaguely more useful dishwasher that Magnus probably doesn’t expect them to use.  The white tiles gleam under the low light from the lamps above him.

He walks past the dark wood kitchen table to the pantry.  The cupboard doesn’t differ from the grandiose kitchen—it’s a walk in, the shelves stocked with more alcohol than his whole clan could drink in weeks.  He briefly wonders which of his clan will be trying to stuff as many bottles into their bags as they can before they leave.  There’s a small washer and dryer hidden in the corner of the pantry beside a folded ironing board.

After enough time to logically assume the Warlock has at least mostly finished his duties, Raphael supposes it’s time to head upstairs to claim the room that the clan left for him.  He knows that they left him the largest room; they always do when meetings like this happen, no matter how much he protests.  They say it’s because he deserves the best. 

He quickly drains his glass and rinses out the blood before quickly walking up the stairs.

The upper floor is decorated the same as the lower floor, understated and calm, and his intuitions are right, of course.  The only door that’s open is the room far from the stairs.  He can hear his clan moving behind the doors, hanging up the clothes they’ll wear for the week or lounging on the beds as he walks down the hall.

The bedroom is just as big as he expected it to be.  It’s expansive in the way that almost makes Raphael itchy, the large bed taking up a large chunk of the room while still leaving room for a wardrobe bigger than one person would need for a completely different outfit for everyday in a month and two comfy looking chairs in the corner.  A large television is mounted to the off white wall across from the bed and the two windows were covered with thick blackout curtains. 

Raphael just sighs and tosses his bag on the bed, unzipping it and taking the time to hang up his jackets and button up shirts in the wardrobe and stack his folded pants in the small drawer.  He knows that he won’t be in the mood to put anything away when he gets back from Magnus’.

When he’s done, he closes the door behind him and leaves the house.  The air is cooler outside than it was inside as he walks towards Magnus’ house, and it feels nice on his skin.

There’s only a few stragglers still loitering around the houses, a small group of werewolves sitting in a circle on the grass laughing too loudly to be sober, Tessa moving from house to house in her knee length black dress, and a Shadowhunter girl leading a Seelie man into the treeline like no one else could see them.

Raphael walks to Magnus’ slowly, giving the Warlock as much time as possible to finish with whatever duties the sorry bastard tasked with running this whole thing has to do on a nightly basis.

He can’t hear a single hummingbird heartbeat in the house.  There’s no movement, no breathing, no nothing.  The house is empty.  Yet still, the Warlocks are known to play games, so he rings the doorbell anyway.

When there’s still no sound from the house, he accepts that it’s empty.  He sits at one of the chairs around the white metal table on the porch and watches the moon crawl across the sky.

From there, he can just barely see the doorway to the mundane world, surrounded in shimmering blue light.   It’s far away, but he can see it easily, people walking in all directions, together or alone, skinny and fat, wandering the streets completely oblivious to what was happening right beside them, right under their noses.  If it weren’t for the magic and the distance, he would be able to hear them, yelling and laughing or just breathing in the late fall air—

The only warning he gets is a twig snap from the trees behind him. 

He’s on his feet before he knows whose there, ready to strike the threat as a small fire appeared right where he was sitting.  His fangs and claws snap out, ready to tear into the attacker—

“You’ve been practicing, Vampire.”  The voice is a few feet away, hidden behind a tree.

But he doesn’t need to see the man to know him.  “Well,” Raphael says, dropping his attack stance, retracting his fangs, and rolling his eyes, “I’ve had a lot of time to practice over the last 50 years, Warlock.” 

“Nonsense,” Ragnor says, appearing out from behind the tree with his arms crossed.  “It’s barely been 42 years.” 

Raphael only rolls his eyes, “I didn’t know you were invited, Ragnor.”  He says, ignoring the ash that covers the chair Ragnor tried to burn down. “What finally brought you out of London?”

Ragnor shrugs and waves his hand, making the smoldering ash where Raphael was sitting disappear like the Warlock did nothing.  He walks out from the shadows, the moonlight glinting off the horns that Raphael knows he polishes, and walks onto the porch with a little hop that makes the long coat he wears flutter around him as he pulls an arm around Raphael to pull him towards the door.  “It’s been so long since I’ve seen the city,” he says, waving his arm so the door flings open silently.  “So when Tessa offered a place, I thought why not.”

The Warlock is warm against his side as he pulls him through the door and doesn’t let go of him until they reach the kitchen.  The layout of the Warlock house is the same as the Vampire’s house, so Raphael knows where’s going as Ragnor says, “Tell me, little Vampire, what’s new with you since we last met.”  He all but shoves Raphael down onto the cushioned kitchen chair, still gripping his shoulder and bending until their faces were level.  He speaks gravely, like he’s handling intense matters of national importance, “Have you met anyone?”

Raphael rolls his eyes, “You haven’t changed.”  He says, “Still refuse to beat around the bush.” 

Ragnor huffs and steps away, “We may have eternity,” he says, opening the cabinet to get a pair of short glasses, “but I don’t have the patience for small talk.”  He points to Raphael as he mixes liquor and blood for him, “Answer the question.”

“No.”  Raphael says, smirking at the Warlock.

Ragnor narrows his eyes, “You’re far too young to be a spinster, Raphael.”  He looks like he’s going to say more, but the door opening interrupts him.

“Leave him alone, Ragnor,” Tessa says, kicking off her kitten heels at the door and shuffling into the kitchen.  “He’ll find someone eventually,” her voice is far too upbeat as she takes the glasses from Ragnor, bringing them over to the table.  She sits beside Raphael and sets a glass in front of him and takes a swig from Ragnor’s drink before he can protest.

With a huff, Ragnor starts pouring a new drink for himself.

“May as well pour two more, Ragnor,” Catarina says, slamming the door behind her and Magnus.  “It’s been a long night.”

“No need for mine,” Magnus says as he all but throws himself on the chair around the table and snaps his fingers.  A rather large glass full of dark liquid appears in front of him and he grabs it before the drink settles.  “I got it.”

Catarina ruffles Raphael’s hair before sitting beside Magnus, smiling at Raphael’s indignation, “I’ll still take a drink.”  She smiles as Ragnor huffs at her as he pulls out another glass.  With a clap of her hands, Catarina makes a deck of cards appear in front of her. “So Raphael,” she says as she shuffles the dark red cards, “have you met someone yet?”

Raphael groans into his drink as Ragnor comes over and sits down, smirking at him and giving Cat her drink. 

Tessa comes to his rescue again, “Raphael is the youngest here,” she says, “we are the last people who should be bugging him about his relationships.”

Before Raphael can even thank her for being so considerate, she continues, “I mean, I know it’s very _unusual_ for a Vampire to still not even _date_ anyone after so _long_ ,” she picks up her drink without looking at him and takes a small sip, “Especially such a prominent clan leader in the city.” 

“Traitor,” he whispers at her, making her laugh.

“Maybe he just hasn’t met any nice Vampire that he hasn’t grown up with.”  Catarina says, her vivid blue skin bright in the low light of the room. “Maybe this political shit show will be useful after all.”

Raphael scoffs, “What are you expecting?  It’s not like I’m going to chose someone from Camille’s clan.”  Everyone in that clan either hates him or is too afraid to leave.

“It seems our little cupcake will be an old maid forever,” Magnus says, not looking up from his slumped position, nursing his drink.  “But if he’s happy, we’re happy.” 

“Speaking of happy,” Ragnor says, gently scratching at the base of his horn in a way that’s meant to look casual, “I saw the most fascinating Shadowhunter this morning.” 

Magnus perks up a little, but is quick to hide it.  Not quick enough though.  “And I saw Magnus give this very handsome little Shadowhunter heart eyes in front of his house.”  Ragnor sips his drink like he won something.

Raphael scoffs a little, “A Shadowhunter?  I don’t know about that,” he smirks, “Maybe you should ask Tessa if it’ll work out.”

Tessa flicks his arm in retaliation without looking away from Magnus, “His?” she asks with her most sympathetic tone, “You know how strict the Clave is, and how much they hate us.”

Magnus looks like he would rather go back into the fray of people needing asinine help with menial tasks. He heaves himself up so he was sitting tall like a king on a cushioned throne.  “Are we playing or what?  After this day, I could use the distraction.”

“The rules are simple.  If you win, you don’t drink,” Catarina says, dealing two cards to each of them, “If you lose, you drink.  If you go over 21, you drink twice.  If anyone gets 21 exactly, we all drink.”  She slams the cards on the table and holds up her glass for a toast.  When the rest of them copy her movement, she says “Let the games begin.”

They spend the rest of the night like that.  Sitting around that dark wood table with their drinks quickly emptying only to be refilled over and over until Raphael is ridiculously drunk.  There’s a pleasant buzz in his mind and warmth in his chest. 

The rest of the group is much better looking now.  Their hair is mussed up from running their fingers through it before the alcohol really kicked in, their clothes are less put together, buttons undone when it got too warm or the person was bored.  But despite the disarray of their attire, they’re smiling.  Laughing and joking with each other like they’re old friends who were separated by time eons ago and have finally got together again.  Because they are.

Tessa has a blush high on her cheeks from laughing and drinking, and her hair has fallen from its bun as she says, “It’s pretty late.”  She stretches her arms over her head and pushes her chair away from the table.  “You should head home, Raphael, the Sun’ll be up soon,” She pats his head with a drunkenly fond hand, and he doesn’t particularly care to shove her away like he would have if it weren’t for the liquor.

Raphael tosses his cards into the center of the table.  He had 24 anyway.  “You’ll probably have to wake up soon anyway,” he says, standing from the table, “Some crazy person who wakes up at six won’t understand how to work a stove.”

“Or they’ll have set the curtains on fire trying to iron their shirt,” Ragnor slurs, practically sleeping already. 

Catarina kicks her feet up on the table, rolling her shoulders, “Or they ran out of liquor.”  Like she was giving an example, she tips her empty glass on its side with a clatter.  She groans and says, “Oh, joy.  I take a week off work for this nonsense and still have to wake up early.”

Magnus stands, far too alert for the amount he drank. “That’s why they make coffee, Cat.”  He loops his arm through Raphael’s and pulls him to the door.  “You go home, Raphael,” he taps his nose and opens the door, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Raphael doesn’t doubt his ability to make it to the house on his own, despite the way the ground starts to sway under his feet.  Better to walk, not run.  He has almost an hour to make it back to the house twenty feet away before sunrise anyway.  No need to rush.

He doesn’t pay that much attention to his surroundings.  After all, Ragnor is the only one who would try anything—but that isn’t real, only training—and the Warlock is probably already sleeping at the kitchen table.

Since he isn’t paying attention to his surroundings, he doesn’t see the young Vampire running full speed towards him, piled high with boxes, until it’s too late.

The edges of the long dress boxes clip Raphael’s shoulder, barely making the drunk Vampire stumble but sending the boxes tumbling to the grass.

“Shit!” the young Vampire says in a harsh whisper, moving like a blur that Raphael can’t blame entirely on the alcohol as he gathers as many of the boxes as he can. “Shit shit shit!”

Raphael stoops to pick up a box that landed at his feet, “Relax,” he says, “You still have time before dawn.” 

“I don’t care about dawn!”  He says, brushing invisible flecks of dirt off the boxes and checking them for damage, “She’ll kill me if there’s anything wrong with her stuff.” 

The words themselves are harmless.  They’re what one says when they worry about someone’s anger—the normal hyperbole of youth.  But he doesn’t mean them to be harmless.  There’s real fear in his voice, tension in his shoulders, tremors practically running through his body like a current.

“Camille?” Raphael asks, not needing the nod the boy gives to know he’s right.  With a sigh, Raphael gives the boxes a look, all white, pristine and dent-free, “She won’t know anything happened,” he says. “Trust me, the dresses are fine.” 

He looks at Raphael with wide eyes, and Raphael takes the time to look at the Vampire.  From the mop of dark hair on his head, almost sallow skin from not eating tonight and down, strong arms hidden under a lose fitting dark shirt, long legs covered in dark jeans, then back up again.    “So are you,” he can feel the smirk on his lips as he talks.  The words themselves are innocent enough, but the intention is not.

He’s not normally this forward. 

It must be the alcohol clouding his mind.

The young Vampire looks surprised when Raphael meets his eyes again.  He stammers out a thank you before looking at the ground and rushing around Raphael.  Without the thin dress box Raphael is still holding.

Raphael turns, watching the Vampire walk quickly away for a second before he speaks up. “Forget something?” he asks before he gets too far away, balancing the box in front of him with his head tilted to the side and a smirk on his lips.

The Vampire freezes on the spot before he turns.  Raphael can almost see the blush on his cheeks as he returns to Raphael, slower than when he left.  He stops in front of Raphael, adjusting the boxes in his arms before reaching for the box Raphael has.

But Raphael steps back a step, holding the box just out of reach, feeling strangely playful.  “What’s your name?” he asks, pulling away again when the young Vampire reaches forward.

He looks confused.  Instead of answering, he reaches out a third time, almost upsetting the rest of the boxes in his arms when Raphael pulls it back again.  “Simon,” he says finally, snapping it in exasperation, “It’s Simon.”

Raphael lets his eyes trail over Simon’s physique, noticing the barely concealed strength of youth in him.  He can’t help but wonder what he’d look like without Camille’s torment.  “I’m Raphael,” he says, stepping closer to Simon to sit the box on top of the stack with more care than he would normally give any of Camille’s things and more grace than he thinks possible of someone so drunk.  Simon looks sheepish, unable to meet Raphael’s gaze as he smiles a little and mutters his thanks barely loud enough for Raphael’s enhanced hearing.

Hesitantly, Simon turns again, slower this time as he walks to the house.  To Camille who would be waiting for him.

Something like pity twists in Raphael’s gut as he watches Simon go.

He doesn’t wait until Simon makes it to Camille’s house of horrors before he turns back to his own house.  It’s a shame that such a cute young Vampire is trapped with Camille’s clan.  He’s been in that position before; he knows what she does to cute young Vampires.

It’s like his mouth fills with acid at the memory of his time with Camille. 

Despite having drunk himself to oblivion at Magnus’, he pours himself another glass of liquor when he makes it to his kitchen, downing it before he can even take a breath to rid his mind of the bloody images. 

Too long ago.  Too much time has passed.  There’s no reason to think about it now.

Briefly, he thinks back to Simon—

Maybe next time he shouldn’t drink so much.

**Author's Note:**

> Naturally, the abusive clan leader is Camille. I hope the anon is ok with the long angsty direction this took. This is more based (loosely) on the Rodgers & Hammerstein version since I love that one, and I’m thinking of writing this prompt again to get it more Cinderella-y. Let me know what you think <3 Thanks to Osh-My-Prince on Tumblr for being the best beta.
> 
> Still looking for prompts! Saphael, Malec, Clizzy, Tuckington, Mainewash, Sterek, Stucky! Any prompt, any rating! Either leave a comment or send the prompts to my ask box on tumblr: Ashley-VH.tumblr.com.  
> I’ll also be writing these fairy tale retellings for other pairings too, so let me know what you'd like to see


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